Oh, I Wouldn't Like Me
by ican-whoawhoawhoawhoawhoa
Summary: Sara reflects on her actions while playing three of the most emotional songs in their new record.


"And I'll sit, all night… I sit still, all night…" My hand wrapped tighter around the neck of my guitar, eyes on the crowd with the only other option being too painful. Tegan's voice echoed around my previous words and I found myself wondering if they meant as much to her as they mean to me - if she could sense the hurt in my voice. These thoughts continued until I could clearly hear the break in hers. I didn't dare look over.

"If you're going downtown…"

"I won't tell one soul."

"And if you're going downtown,"

"I won't tell _one soul_."

My heart slowed to a near halt as Tegan's voice cracked again, my head finally turning to take in her frame, shoulders slightly hunched over, eyes downcast, looking as though she were about to cry. I didn't trust my own voice any longer and ducked my head, stepping back from the microphone as Tegan did the same. "Thank you," I greeted the shouts from the crowd with a forced smile. "This will be our last song." The sentence caused objections but I stood firm, shaking my head with a slight smile.

"No, really, we've had so much fun playing here…" I was lying through my teeth. This whole experience was just a kick when I was down, and probably worse for Tegan. We wanted to be anywhere but on this stage, and she as far from me as she could get.

"Sara, don't be a jerk," Tegan's laughing filtered through my unwilling ears. I turned my head again to see her picking up our set list, scanning the agenda for songs we hadn't already deranged.

"We still have a couple more songs," she added, looking out over the paper to the audience. I shook my head the littlest bit, trying to convey that we should end the show where it was. Somehow, I could sense she needed to play the next song, even if it hurt her. I knew what was next and my stomach flipped just like it had before Downtown, and I grew submissive to her wishes. Anything to make her happy.

"There's a war inside of me…" The song started and I wordlessly played my part. The thought passed my mind that perhaps the crowd was wondering about our lack of banter, then I decided that I didn't care - it was our business. "I can't stop talking for fear of listening to unwelcome sound," trying my hardest to control the emotion going behind my instrument, I bit on my lip as Tegan's voice hitched and she covered it with a growl the crowd knew all too well.

"There's nothing to live for when I'm sleeping alone. I wash the windows outside in hopes that the glare will bring you around."

_Oh, I, I feel like you wouldn't like me if you met me…_

Tegan, please stop playing this song. I hated this whole album and I hated performing it; the whole recording process had been weeks of tense, silent battles between two contrasting points of view, two adults who refused to back down. We came out of the studio with a record that was a literal back-and-forth war of asphyxiating emotions split into two entities, swirling inside halves of the one soul that wouldn't ever be the same. It took one mistake to nearly break up the band and I'm sorry.

"It's love that leaves that breaks the seal of always thinking you would be real happy and healthy, strong and calm,"

_Where does the good go?_

The most emotional part of Where Does the Good Go had to be listening to and participating in Tegan's display of a broken heart, painting out the picture of her shattered organ on the floor, smashed there by the sole of my shoe. It was times like these where my selfishness presented itself most prominently, in the disguise of anguish and understanding. I knew Tegan was really venting her side of the story, but it was hard to believe that she thought she could feel more pain than me here, or, really, any pain at all.

She had rejected me; she had pushed me away; she had taken on my role in confrontations, calling me names and using every insult in the book to translate her disapproval towards my behaviour. I had confessed, willed myself to speak against the bad feeling in my gut, the one thing I shouldn't have. I had told her, with a shaking in my chest that made me feel like there was a bird trapped inside my ribs, that I love her. I put myself out there, I struggled for so long with confusion, anger, fear, and anxiety that I couldn't hold it any longer. I had convinced myself that I could do it, spent hours at night staring up at the ceiling of my room, thinking out everything I'd say and imagining her response, but my fevered mind never considered the possibility that Tegan - my sister, my twin, my other half - could react as violently as she had.

Though I had spent time over-analysing every little detail of my sister's reply, nothing hurt me more than the way she had taken a step back, both physically and mentally, figuratively and literally. I had spent days apologising over something I couldn't help, something I had tried stopping before. She had spent days avoiding my calls, acting as if I were a stranger to her. In reality, I was most like myself than I'd ever been.


End file.
